


An unexpected house guest

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Dimension Travel, Drinking, Fairest of the Rare, LF2018, Love Fest 2018, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, dorco, wand fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: Draco is shocked when a strange man appears in his living room, but maybe it's not as bad as it initially seems.





	An unexpected house guest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandraSempra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraSempra/gifts).



> Written after having a conversation about how if Dorian Pavus would hook up with anyone in the HP universe, it would OBVIOUSLY be Draco Malfoy. This would never have happened without Love Fest 2018 and the Fairest of the Rare FB group, so if you want to blame anyone for this, blame them :)  
> This is a plotless piece of fun, so enter into it with low expectations and you hopefully won't be disappointed!
> 
> Draco belongs to JK, Dorian belongs to Bethesda. Draco's tiny apartment belongs to me.

Draco gaped, wide-eyed, at the semi-naked, leather-clad man who had suddenly appeared in his front room wielding an oversized walking stick that was adorned with a ridiculously theatrical glowing skull.

“Kaffas! What have I done?” The stranger cried, frantically looking around him.

Draco remained frozen in the same position he’d been in when the man appeared, halfway out of the door. He felt oddly exposed as he watched the stranger take in his surroundings; he rarely had guests over, other than his closest friends, and now here this stranger was, probing this most private of spaces with his curious gaze. The buckles and adornments on the stranger’s barely-there leather outfit glinted in the candlelight as he twisted his body around, his warm brown skin glowing in the soft light. When he finally noticed Draco, his face lit up and Draco was horrified to feel his cheeks redden as the stranger unashamedly dragged his gaze down the length of Draco’s body, before slowly making the return journey. “You there, pretty-eyes, where am I?”

It was as if the stranger’s voice had broken whatever spell had kept Draco rooted to the spot. “Incarcerous!” He shouted, finally finding his voice. He watched with relief and no small degree of satisfaction as ropes flew from his wand.

The stranger gasped, his expression almost comical as the magical ropes whipped around him, fastening his arms to sides. The large spear-thing clattered against the parquet floor as it was jolted from the man’s hand and Draco tried not to wince at the thought of the damage a pointy, bedazzled stick like that could do to the wood. Neither man spoke for several seconds, they just eyed each other warily across the room; Draco breathing heavily (his heart still recovering from the shock of having a half-naked man suddenly appear in his living room on a Wednesday evening), while the other man somehow managed to look surprisingly unruffled. As Draco watched, unable to look away from the most perfectly maintained moustache he’d ever seen, the stranger quirked an eyebrow, then smirked lasciviously.

“Bondage on a first date? It's a bold move, I’ll give you that, but I'm game if you are.” His voice was a low rumble that seemed to go straight to Draco’s groin.

Draco shook his head in disbelief. Who the hell was this? And how did he get past Draco’s wards? And was he seriously flirting? 

“What the actual fuck? You have two fucking minutes to explain who you are and what in Hades you're doing in my front room, then I'm summoning the aurors,” Draco said, saying a silent prayer to the gods that his voice didn’t sound as shaky as his insides.

“Dorian, of house Pavus, formerly of Qarinus, but currently abiding in Skyhold. I'd offer my hand in greeting, but I seem to be a bit tied up!”

“Draco. Draco Malfoy. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but, well. It’s not.”

“Ha! You and I are going to get along swimmingly, I can feel it. Now, how about a drink?”

Once again, Draco was left with his mouth hanging open like some kind of simpleton. Who the fuck was this man, where the fuck did he come from, and how the fuck did he manage to look so comfortable trussed up like a Christmas ham? With the adrenaline from the initial shock starting to ebb away, Draco took a couple of wobbly steps forward so he could collapse onto the sofa, and hopefully get away with looking like he was just sitting down. It was looking like this was going to be a long night.

~~~

Two hours and several teas later found Draco feeling marginally more relaxed, but infinitely more perplexed.

“So what you're telling me, is that you're a mage. From another… world?... dimension?....planet?? Somewhere not on this earth at the very least, and you ‘accidentally' apparated into my heavily warded apartment while tinkering with some sort of magical mirror and this rusty old trinket.” He gestured towards the offending item, which was currently floating above the table and wrapped in as many shields and protective charms as Draco could maintain.

Dorian chuckled softly from where he was tied to a dining chair on the other side of the coffee table, still managing to look infuriatingly at ease with his situation. “I'm assuming from your tone that you don't entirely believe me.”

“What’s not to believe? Inter-dimensional travel is so commonplace it's a wonder we walk anywhere these days,” Draco scoffed.

“Ha! Sassy little thing, aren't you.”

Draco felt his face heating again. Why did this keep happening! He needed to focus on the matter at hand and stop letting himself get distracted by this outrageously flirtatious, muscular, handsome, tanned… No! So what if the teasing glimpse of that strong, muscled shoulder made Draco’s mouth water, Dorian was clearly deranged and should be treated with caution. Seriously, what wizard worth his salt walked around with a bloody great big staff, for fuck’s sake. Who did he think he was, Merlin?

“What is that spindly little thing, anyway?” Dorian asked, curiosity written across his face as he stared at the wand in Draco’s lap. Draco glared at him, suddenly suspicious that Dorian had read his mind. He hadn't felt the telltale slither of someone probing around in his head, but if Dorian was good enough, he could probably have snuck in and out without Draco noticing— the aura of magical energy that swirled around the man made it clear that despite being a few sandwiches short of a picnic, he was an incredibly powerful wizard —so, to be on the safe side, Draco subtly raised his occlumency shields.

“It's a wand, clearly. We don't all need an obnoxiously showy log decorated with shiny baubles in order to prove we're a wizard,” he sneered.

“Mage. I'm a mage, not some cheap village entertainer, performing party tricks for the masses. And I'm more than capable of casting without a staff. It just helps to enhance certain aspects of my abilities. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it looks damn good too.” He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, causing a momentary flutter of something in Draco that he refused to acknowledge.

Composing himself, Draco narrowed his eyes. It was time to stop mooning over this handsome stranger and start treating him like the dangerous interloper he was. “If you're so powerful, then why haven't you freed yourself yet?”

“Because I'm trying to be a good house guest! Believe me, if I wanted to, I could shrug these ropes off as if they were nothing more than fine threads.”

“Of course you could. Right. I've heard enough. Excuse me whilst I make a quick call.” Draco pushed himself up from the sofa and stepped towards the fireplace. He'd been back and forth in his mind trying to decide who best to ask for assistance with this crazy man, and despite considering the benefits of absolutely every single person he knew, he kept coming back to Granger. There was no one he could think of better suited to dealing with his current situation, even though he loathed the thought of being to be indebted to her.

He grabbed a handful of floor powder and was about to kneel at the grate when there was a sharp spike in the magical energy of the room swiftly followed by a sound not dissimilar to a match being lit and the strong smell of burnt leather and hair.

Draco spun around just in time to see Dorian standing up, free of ropes, but looking ever so slightly singed around the edges. He dropped the floo powder on the floor and immediately raised his wand defensively. 

“What the fuck?” He cried, unable to think of anything more eloquent in the heat of the moment. Combat really wasn’t his thing; this was veering perilously close to Harry Potter territory. Merlin, if anyone found out he'd turned his back on a potentially dangerous, captive wizard he'd never live down the embarrassment.

Dorian, of course, didn’t look phased in the slightest. “I did tell you. I'm not sure why you're so surprised.” 

As Dorian reached for his staff, Draco cast a stunning spell, with the intention of incapacitating him and then running for help. However, Dorian reacted instantly, raising his hand, palm out and released a green wave of energy that must have been a shield of some description because the stunner rebounded and hit a flowery, decorative teapot he had received as a gift from his mother, shattering it into thousands of pieces.

As quickly as he could, Draco unleashed a volley of non-lethal spells, but each one was brushed aside as if it was nothing more than a mild irritation. Dorian moved with feline grace. The now-recovered staff dancing through the air like it was like an extension of his arm, twirling around Dorian’s body and managing not to hit anything despite its size and the confined nature of their battleground; it would have been quite breathtaking to watch had Draco not been in fear for his own life.

Once Draco saw he was in danger of razing his apartment to the ground with all the spells that were rebounding every which way, he reluctantly halted his assault, sweating profusely and breathing heavily. He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified by the state of his apartment, or by how unfit he was. He ran his fingers through his hair to push his fringe off his sweaty forehead and grimaced at the mess surrounding him; Mother was going to kill him if he couldn’t fix all the antiques and books that now lay in pieces around him. He glanced over at Dorian, who had barely broken a sweat and scowled. How was it fair that the man looked like he’d just been for a leisurely stroll when Draco could feel the cooling sweat trickling down his back.

“My my, feisty aren't we! How delightful! Now, if you've quite finished with the fireworks, I'd really like for us to work out what we’re going to do to get me home. If you've honestly never heard of Thedas, Tevinter, Orlais, or even, Maker forbid, Ferelden, then something has gone very, very awry, and it'd be a jolly good idea if we got it fixed as soon as possible.”

Dorian strode confidently across the room, completely ignoring the detritus littering the floor and the fact that Draco had spent the past however long throwing spells at him. As he brushed past Draco, he clapped him on the shoulder and winked.

“No hard feelings, Draco. It’s not your fault you’re no match for me. Now, how about you let me sample whatever passes for alcohol in this place and we can get comfortable.”

Draco could only stare dumbly after him as he sauntered into the kitchen. It was only when he’d disappeared from view that he realised he been staring at Dorian’s arse. Shit.

~~~

“And so you see,” Dorian summarised, taking another teasingly slow sip of his firewhiskey, “all we need to do is work out exactly what went wrong, reverse the effects, and then boom! I should be able to slip back through your mirror and get home.”

“Oh, is that all,”Draco replied weakly. He'd done his best to follow Dorian’s explanation with as open a mind as possible, deciding that it was better to play along with the madness until a better plan formed, but the man was so damn distracting. Every time he looked up he noticed something new; the way his hair was shaved on either side of his head, the way his moustache curled up at the ends, the way his strong, calloused hands held the whiskey glass so delicately. Draco found himself daydreaming, wondering what those hands would feel like holding him down, what the moustache would feel like as it tickled over his skin— he'd never kissed a man with a moustache before, never even wanted to, but now… Dorian's muscles spoke of someone who was very physically active, but he was clearly intelligent too — the look of joy on his face when he'd caught sight of Draco’s book collection had made Draco’s insides wobble — and to top it all off, his magical power rivalled Potter himself. By all respects, he was perfect...if only he wasn't absolutely off his rocker. 

Draco sighed and downed the rest of his glass. Why couldn't he ever meet a nice, normal wizard? Why were all the good ones straight or crazy?

“Blondie? Are you listening?”

“Yes, sorry. Just thinking.” He turned his attention to the dull looking amulet that was now resting on the table. There was a large crack in the blue stone in the centre and the metal surround looked to be in need of a good polish. 

“If only Dagna were here. We’d have this fixed in a jiffy. Oh well. I suggest we get some sleep. There's not much that can be done tonight. Fresh brains, fresh eyes and all that.”

“Sleep. Yes. That sounds good.” Draco said distractedly.

“Well, come on then, lead the way!”

Draco stared blankly at Dorian’s naked shoulder. The whiskey sat like lead in his stomach and anchored him to his chair. Sleep. Dorian was expecting to sleep somewhere, but where? His apartment was what estate agents would generously describe as ‘compact’ and there was no spare room. He supposed he could transfigure the sofa into a bed...but —and this was probably the firewhiskey talking —it had been a long, long time since he had shared a bed with anyone...and, well, with those looks Dorian had been sending him weren’t particularly hard to decipher. There was clearly a degree of interest...But….he was also a crazy person so…

Weighed down by Dorian’s gaze, Draco slowly pushed himself up from the table. “I, um, I don’t have a spare bed, so there’s the sofa...or…”

“‘..Or..’” Dorian purred, the ends of his moustache twitching as his lips curled into a smile, “I like the sound of that.”

Draco tilted his head down and looked up at Dorian through pale lashes. A cheap move, and one he generally considered beneath him, but it had had a one hundred percent success rate in the past, and his brain really wasn’t in control anymore. Dorian grinned back at him, and wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. And...was it his imagination or did Dorian shiver? Draco allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, before stepping around the table to lead the way to the bedroom.

Usually, Draco prided himself on his graceful movement— one of the few perks of his strict pureblood upbringing, —but in that moment, every last drop of poise drained from his body and he tripped over a chair leg. He stumbled forwards like a semi-dazed hippogriff and reached out blindly to save himself from further embarrassment, only find his face suddenly pressed into warm, supple leather; strong, callused fingers wrapped snugly around his upper arms.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He uttered, feebly, but made no active effort to right himself. It was strangely warm and comfortable in this stranger’s arms, and his head felt nicely fuzzy around the edges thanks to the firewhiskey.

“Ha! Not to worry, I often have this effect on people. It’s the dashing good looks, you see. Sends people a bit weak at the knees.” 

“I’ll have you know, I’m not some blushing, virginal, school girl,” Draco protested, trying to claw back the scraps of his dignity.

“Not at all, not at all. You’re ever so strapping, and just bursting with experience, I’ve no doubt. Now. let’s get you to bed, and I’ll be a gentleman and take the sofa.”

“But…I...It’s really no problem.” Draco mentally kicked himself for sounding so needy, so pathetic.

“You’re playing with fire, Draco. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“As I said before, I’m no blushing virgin. Are you sure _you _can handle it?” Draco replied, his hackles raised at the insinuation he didn’t know what he was letting himself in for..__

__Dorian chuckled. “Well then, lead the way…”_ _

__With as much confidence as he could muster, Draco peeled himself from Dorian’s chest and coyly took him by the hand. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe the tiredness, or maybe it was the fact that Dorian had absolutely no clue who he was, but Draco felt an unfamiliar flutter of excitement in his chest. He had absolutely no doubt that they would find a way for Dorian to get home, but that was a job for tomorrow. Right now, he rather thought he might like a little fun_ _

__“I think I could get used to this place.” Dorian murmured, as if reading his mind again._ _

__Draco just smiled at him over his shoulder, then dragged him into his room and shut the door._ _

__END_ _

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY! Maybe i'll add a second part with some smut.. These guys were fun to write


End file.
